The Price of Slapping A Bitch

W Brady

My aunt slapped a bitch once, and because of it she will forever be my hero. The woman she slapped completely deserved it and there were plenty of witnesses around to nod their heads and confirm, “Oh yeah, that bitch just got slapped!” Unfortunately, due to an egregious miscarriage of justice, my aunt had to pay thousands of dollars in lawyer‘s fees just to stay out of jail after the woman pressed charges. How could this have happened in this day and age? Sometimes people need to be slapped and I just don’t get why it’s not an understood American right.

This thought stems from an incident from this morning where someone tried my patience. Long story short, JW’s neighbor has beef with him about typical neighborly disputes—therefore she has beef with me as a frequent houseguest and witness of disputes. For whatever reason I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt and I’ve been trying to establish some sort of peace in this chaotic rivalry between them but alas, she had to try me. I leave his apartment this morning and drive halfway home only to discover there’s a note on my windshield. Why, who could it be leaving me a nice little love note to take home and cherish? The note was addressed to Bobbi Kristina—which I suppose is funny but kind of missed the mark because:


Not bad looking at all…

  1. I don’t think BK is a terrible looking woman. I actually think she’s cute. Our feminine egos would love for our celebrity doppelgängers to be perhaps more glamorous or sexy but I really don’t care and I’ve been called this before and even nicknamed this by someone and it left me with an overall feeling of “Meh”. (I didn’t even think the neighbor had seen my face enough to make that kind of association).
  2. If it was supposed to be some sort of jab about my gap teeth she’s about 15 years too late. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been made fun of for something that is obviously not a big deal to 99% of the people I meet. Also, life is too short for me to be particularly bothered about not having perfect teeth. I have bills to pay and children to rear!
  3. I am perhaps mean for mentioning this but I have to—the woman who wrote this note is morbidly obese. She is not thick, she is not phat OR even fat; she is a walking heart attack. This woman is so large that she can’t even put her arms down at her sides. I don’t want to be cruel about her health problems because I am a woman that struggles with weight issues as well—but I also would not be so foolish as to leave a threatening note on anyone’s windshield and dare try to tease them about their appearance when I am clearly not placing in any beauty contests myself. It’s just Womanhood 101. Making fun of people with your friends and anonymously on the blog is great fun; but to do so in person reeks of petty high school one upmanship and I’m just not about that life.
Proud GA

Proud Gaprican American and Grown Ass Woman

Anywho, the note was basically the petty kind of stuff you would expect someone to say if they were trying to provoke you, concluding with a nice threat to take home and meditate on. I do not take kindly to being threatened and don’t know too many that do. This animosity between the two neighbors has now become my problem and I am livid. Because I use words like “livid” I’ve heard more than once, “Oh, you don’t look like the type to be a good fighter.” Listen,  my fighting abilities don’t even come into play here; I don’t need to fight—I just need to slap a bitch. It’s so easy and really all that’s necessary to solve this whole dilemma. However, because of silly little words like “assault” and “jail time”, I am not able to do what I need to do to nip this whole thing in the bud. I truly believe that my hands have healing qualities and I would be able to slap the crazy right out of her and she would probably even thank me for releasing her of all her foolishness.

Seriously, what is happening in my life right now that I’m even dealing with this sort of thing? Trying to discuss it with JW is only resulting in us fighting amongst ourselves and I have to say; I really resent this woman and the position she has put me in. I want to support my man and take it to the streets with her—but the onus is on me to be a lady in this situation thus my hands are tied. Becoming the rowdy “hold it down” chick just can’t be on my list of amazing qualities because I have children and a career and simply cannot afford to spend time in in jail AGAIN! So here I am, typing this and taking the high road. The adult thing to do is to defer to my man to solve his own issues with his neighbors and to stay the hell out of it and disregard her note entirely– hard to do without feeling like a little punk.

As nice as it would be to slap a bitch (even only once!) there is  simply too much risk involved. The high road to mature adulthood officially sucks ass…

TD High

To slap or not to slap….THAT’S the mofo question!

The Devil Wears H&M

The other day my ex-boyfriend called me an emotional bully, and my first thought was “That’s awesome!” Eventually, thanks to my public school education, I was able to deduce that any description with the word bully tacked onto the end is probably not very good. I need to mention that the ex is the intellectual type so what he was basically trying to tell me is that I’m a bitch.


I laugh about it now because I do realize that I WAS a bitch—and still am a little bit but it’s a work in progress.

 I know it derives from having a sensitive heart. I would prefer to live my life with my heart on my sleeve, walk around stroking it like an exotic fur coat…however, there are some real assholes out there that wouldn’t hesitate to throw blood all over it. I’ve learned to protect myself with sarcasm, wit and a thick web of bitchiness. This has not helped me in my love relationships. Sorry if you’re tired of me talking about my wack love life…but I will say that the demise of my two major relationships have played a large part in the downward spiral of my mental health. I can’t help but to talk about it. Anyway, read real closely folks, because I this is my attempt to be completely upfront about my negative contributions to these relationships.


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 Confused Spirit: My first husband was also my first boyfriend. No one ever told me that it was my job as a girlfriend to be nice. Just as nobody told me I was a crazy ass bitch. I remember one time he got on my nerves I dropped him off in the middle of a busy street and told him I didn’t care how he got home, he just wasn’t going home with me. That’s crazy stuff, highly disrespectful and I would NEVER do that to anyone now. Looking back, I’m not entirely sure how he managed to put up with me and/or why.

 We barely made it through marriage counseling, it was definitely not a good plan for us to follow through with the marriage. I didn’t think the same way I do now and I definitely wasn’t into the concept of submission at all. I didn’t trust him, I bossed him around a lot and I was downright volatile. I was 21 and just unsure of myself and who I was as a whole. I didn’t know that I was an introvert and that I needed time alone in order to function. His presence in my life was a burden and it became more and more clear that we were incompatible. Instead of assessing my part of our issues I withdrew further into myself and became incapable of any healthy communication. I didn’t know how to be affectionate, I didn’t know how to curb my sarcasm, and I didn’t know how to request what I really wanted and needed without things escalating into a fight. It was the infidelity that eventually led to the demise of the marriage, but I can’t pretend that I didn’t contribute to it. It’s fun to be the victim and to have a sense of self-righteousness about how a situation went down but the fact of the matter is that my bitchy protective armor played a large part in costing me my marriage.

Wounded Spirit: I was madly in love with him. I was wrapped around his finger from the moment we reacquainted. His energy was lovely to me and I enjoyed his presence and his voice. I would sit and smile and listen to him talk to me about anything and everything. I was gentle with him and I couldn’t take my hands off of him. I always needed to be touching, holding his hand or kissing his face. Darkness eventually came to light and the truth was revealed that he had been in a relationship with his so-called “best friend” for four years and I was just a side piece. I became ruled by devastation, and allowed a coldness to seep into my heart. I loved him and I stuck by him in spite of the lies but the softness I had for him was gone. I couldn’t let the pain go.

 In retrospect, I realize all he had done to try to get back into my good graces—including begging for forgiveness, but it just wasn’t enough for me. I didn’t realize at the time that he could never do enough to make up for the damage already done. Once someone breaks my heart I just have to be completely done or I’ll continue to hold on to what once was, while my emotions won’t allow me to completely heal. We stayed “together” but I was a constant ball of fire. I allowed jealousy and anger to drive me absolutely crazy. The old me believed that all is fair in love and war so when we did fight I went for the jugular. There’s and old Hole song lyric that would play over and over in my head, “someday, you will ache like I ache”…and I found myself on a mission to make that happen. Eventually my bitchy attitude just turned into a way for me to self-sabotage. Two years later we actually tried our hand at a normal and committed relationship together but it just couldn’t last because my self esteem and mental health had unraveled too far.


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Free Spirit: I know how to love, I know how to be nice. I am that chick that cooks dinner, and cuts toenails and gives massages. I will lay in bed with you and listen to your hopes and dreams and shoot your adoring looks every once in awhile across the room at a party—but after being so hurt I made it so that any man would have to fight to the death to tap into that side of me. When I lost my job and I lost my love within months of each other, that hard side of me slowly began to dissipate. I just wanted to be myself without the armor attached. Being damaged is exhausting! The bitchiness left a furrow in my brow and a heaviness that was weighing me down beyond belief. I happened to have met a man around that time—he was very genuine and unassuming in his approach but later it was revealed that he was emotionally unavailable to me—but it actually felt good to interact with him kindly. I was open about my feelings and I was able to be sweet and patient toward him. That situation didn’t work out the way I would have liked but I am glad that I was able to relax and be myself. For the first time I felt like I was acting and reacting as an adult instead of being ruled by my protective emotions.

 I feel like it’s taken me forever to get to this place, but I’ve calmed down. I am open to something good.